


Gotham by Gaslight

by ccconfidence



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, BUT REALLY ITS JUST, F/F, Harely had a kid, I thought about making this dark, Multi, Pam is a secret butch farmer, Selina's an ex-sexworker, TELLING WHATEVER STORIES I WANT IN THIS TRASH CORNER, WE THREW CANNON OUT THE FUCKING WINDOW, all of these women adopt Jason, and the major character death is my boi Jason, if you're here for the smut you'll be waiting a while, not actually set in the Gotham by Gaslight universe, slow-burn, the past rape/non-con applies only to Pamela's backstory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 11:30:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16094789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ccconfidence/pseuds/ccconfidence
Summary: Harley leaves, Joker catches a bird, and Pam pays attention again to a world she DOESN'T CARE ABOUTdefinitely doesn't give a shit about.nope, not a one.**********I don't even know anymore





	Gotham by Gaslight

**Author's Note:**

> look ok, how does Harl/Ivy have so few fics? HOw? HHHOOOWWWW?
> 
> Selina is East Asian, Harely looks like Margot Robbie but different back story, Pam is Latina
> 
> Jason Todd deserves to be happy and I love that little trash raccoon.

Should'a fuckin known

The fuck does a PhD do ya after all? We wrap ourselfs up in paper and titles and institutions like it makes us better. Better than the animals. Like we're not the monsters, like we can't ever be. Like, we sandwich enough itsy bitsy letters 'round our name, and all'a the sudden the worst shit won't stain our pearly white coats. 

Ya know the stats on institutionalized criminality and victimization? On the education-prison pipeline? On how fucking YOUNG we start these boys? 'Cause I sure did. Ya gonna be a shrink in a place for tha criminal insane, you gotta know how to pick out abuse. How to see it, feel it, its process, its signs. Gotta know every step and catch that shit early. That's the key'n breaking the cycle, unlearning the behaviour, someones gotta call it out, and you'd think a trained psychiatrist would be qualified? Ya? 'least enough that she doesn' _FUCKING_

> GASLIGHT - manipulate (someone) by psychological means into questioning their own sanity

Guess the electroshock and chemical immersion therapy were just fun peppy side benefits, **BUY ONE GET _2 FREE_**

Shoulda seen it coming baby, shoulda seen the siiiggnnnss

Wher'd the girl who jumped on that cycle go? What happened in that ride? To that rage? Went from empathy to hatred to love in the time from raising the gun to the fucking... That trigger, where the fuck. Why the tittylicking fuck did... fucking anything that happened after that ?

Y'know I never once heard Mistah J laugh in our sessions? He used to chuckle under his breath, made me feel like I earned it y'know? Like I was special. Only girl on that team, only female PhD in Arkham, took one talk with Strange to figure out why. Waste of space just wanted all tha goons and lab rats he could get. Women ask to many questions. Know what it's like to be on the wrong side of the system, doubt authority a little to frequently. And the ambitious ones? a breakout here and there, a horror story or two or twelve, and most of 'em, rightly, won't take the chance where they know they'll be left to die.

Literally

Musta been **BLINNNNDDDDD _BLIND BLIIIND_**

Didn't hear him laugh once. Just that nice warm chuckle, a soft snort here and there, a quite smile. He's alabaster under all that makeup, made me to match, but in the joint? Without that powder dusting? Still just enough capillary dilation to blush. He was sweet. He was sweet on me. Not shy, but almost... gentle. Made me laugh every session. Made it his mission. I had every corner of his face memorized, every inflection of his voice, he went from a patient, to a case study, to a pet project, to way over the line _reeeeaaaaal_ quick.

I thought I was in control ya'kno, thought "selectively introducing familiar stimuli in a controlled environment would be a step to reinventing the context in which he viewed the object". I remember that line from the notes, remember how hard I was tryin' ta justify it, but it felt like nothing then. Felt natural. Thought fudging the rules wasn't that dangerous, not with that warm chuckle. 

But never the laugh.

No the laugh came aftah. Came aftah the lock down, the table, the breakout, even came aftah the warehouse and the vat and the costume and the feelin like bein remade. Never laughed once, only those soft, dulcet tones while I was strahpped down to the shock table. The laugh came aftah I looked down that barrel and couldn't shoot the only thing I understood anymore. Couldn't see myself, couldn't even feel myself, but still had his face memorized.

Gave years to the game, to the dance, just wanted to be there, with him. The only thing I knew. It felt like, home. For the most part. I was always filling gaps. So many Gaps

Bullet holes mostly.  
I liked my hammer.  
My babies.  
I loved my babies.  
I loved Mistah J  
But I was always fillin in gaps

He'd leave gaps in jokes alla tha time, make me guess the punchline. Tell me I always got it wrong, but I was still his puddin, still his. No mattah how much of a dumb twit I was. Then there was one joke, one joke I got really wrong. I messed up and it weren't any kinda funny. Not for no one.

I left and I didn't hear a thing from Mistah J for a month. He'd been quite longer, I'd left for longer, he'd pretend the next time he saw me like months hadn't passed, like he'd seen me that morning, he'd done it before, it weren't new, but...

But.

But no one had heard from him in a month. No one. Not Hack or Slash or any of the regulars. Pengy hadn't heard a thing, and the Iceberg weren't eve'r quite, penguins worse than rats I swear. Harvey hadn't seen heads or tails of him, Waylon liked me just enough to tell me he hadn't been through the sewers. No sour-sweet flower smell o' ma sugah. Johnathan and I ain't ever gonna be on speaking terms, some academic differences there, but Batsy had a solid grip on Arkahm that month and my Kitty woulda told me something if her boo knew. 

Red.

Red hated Mistah J, but I knew that if he was kickin dust to piss her off, she'da come to tell me. She was always chewing my ear down on Puddin' "This Laughing gas is bad for the trees" "I'm going to kill him" "does he ever shut up?" "Do you?" "How does he smell like that?" "I'm gonna kill him" "what godawful thing did he draw on you now?" "GIVE ME THE CHEMICAL FORMULA HE PUT IN THE WATER RIGHT NOW HARLS OR SO HELP ME" That last tone was always the _woooorst_

She hated Puddin', so she always kept a close eye. She woulda told me if she knew. So I didn't even bother askin her. Every corner a'this dirty city was licked clean a'Puddin' tho, so I was goin to her. She had Robinson park, always. Even when she was all locked up, that park acted like hers, she took some greenhouses in the center and kept the park quite at night an' hadn't even tried to kill mankind in like, four months, an' there was always someone worse, always something bigger goin on, the park just always stays hers. Figured something green would do me good.

This fucking _clown_

I'm about a full deck of cards past pain, about 2 full suits past being able to feel my legs, and at least a set of royals past giving a _single **FUCK**_

Never mind, apparently I can still feel my legs, they feel like burning. That's nice. 

My arms are technically tied behind my back, but both my shoulders are dislocated and everything's broken and everything _hurts_ and I couldn't move them even if the thought didn't cause my whole stomach to quiver. But oh man do I wanna. I wanna grab that fucking crowbar and shove it so far up his ass that he _**FUCK**_

Sorry Alf, I'd've filled that swear jar by now, you'd be so disappointed

I don't know how long we've at this but I know it won't be much longer. The fucking _clown_ was favouring one shoulder before we started and I've been slow bleeding into my lungs for long enough now his funs gonna end one way or another. Shelia's unconscious but probably ok for e-vac. To bad I wont be able to fucking _**FUCK**_

Bruce is gonna be so disappointed.

"Wow, that looked like it really hurt"

Jesus. Fucking. _Christ._ Would this sentient garbage ever just SHUT. UP.

_FUCK_

Huh, that one didn't hurt as much 

"Wuh, now hang on, that looked like it hurt a lot more" 

May I present; An Actual Moron

"So, let's try and clear this up, ok pumpkin? What hurts more? A? or B?" 

**fuck. FUCK**  
I know ok? I know B-Mans not making this. There's no riding to the rescue for the Dynamic Duo here, no happy ending. If he's noticed I'm missing right now, he still won't know where to look, wont have enough information, he still _won't make it_

"Forehand? Or backhand?"

 _ **fuck FUCK FUUUUUUCK**_ God it sounds like a shitty remake of Jingle Bells in my head, except Robin really is laying an egg here.

I figure y'gotta say something, right? I mean that's Robins whole thing? Wisecrackin, bonecrackin sidekick. More than that though, it's MY thing. I can't go quiet into that dark night. So I come up with my best line yet, my masterpiece, my dying breath. 

_You're not even funny_

Alright, coulda been better. I figure if I think it loud enough I can force it outta my lips without the useless swollen things needing to actually move though. Not like that's what they're fucking designed for or anything. It probably comes out like a pathetic whisper but fuck it, I can't hear anything past the wringing in my ears.

"A little louder lambchop? I think you might have a collapsed lung, that always impedes the oratory."

Everything is blurry and I can't make out any distinguishing features but I can feel his hand pull my hair up and for a split second I get the clarity back

I spit in his face.  
It is the single most satisfying thing I have ever done.  
Feels better than getting that first tire off the batmobile.  
I can see more than blood drip down his cheek, there's a bit of actual flesh from my mouth, what looks like a shard of a tooth and definitely bits of black Kevlar mesh and glue from my domino mask. 

"Now that was rude, the first Boy Blunder had some manners"  
Dick.  
Dick has manners when it fucking suits him and it sure as shit never suited him 'round you or me, fuckface.

"I suppose I'm going to have to teach you a lesson so you can better follow in his footsteps."  
Oh my fucking GOD, if I have to spend my final hours listening to this self obsessed jerkoff tell me how to be more like Dick Fucking Grayson I'm gonna actually kill myself. I will find a way to wedge these shattered ribs so far through these lungs I'll-

"Nah, I'll just keep beating you with this crowbar."

Thank GOD

As of 4 hours and 32min ago, Bruce Wayne lost is whole goddamn mind.  
I know because I was staring at him.

More concerning, as of 4 hours and 27 minutes ago, The Batman lost his whole goddamn mind.  
I know, because he was staring at me.

The Batman is always understandably hard to read, and prone to sudden, uncommunicated, violent, disappearing acts. I get it, I do. With a whole Justice League to help manage and the occasional intergalactic problem to deal with, I understand the emergency need to vacate a premises. Trust me, I do. I understand it so well because I've been using it to my advantage since he started doing it. I know the exact level of crisis he keeps his head squarely on his shoulders for, and the little variations that make him flip the switch to overdrive.

Bruce has an emergency? Unfortunate, but probably manageable, stays in Gotham, which means a shortened, but importantly not absent, nightly patrol. Maybe easier to hit a pawn shop or a gala. A spontaneous big move? Still out of the question. His reaction time is to good. The Batman has an emergency? Time to delicately rearrange my schedule. Don't tip any of the big players off to the lightened security, but maybe casually look at the blueprints for a couple heavy hitters again. Get in and out before Nightwing arrives on scene to pick up the slack, quietly pocket a extra months profit. 

So when sitting across from me on this very casual cafe brunch, I see Bruce's face shutter from annoyed and concerned parent to DEF CON ONE, and not five minutes later I have a fully suited Batman staring me down in an alley around the corner asking about the Joker. It is very safe to say something has gone demonstrably wrong. Waiting for his plane to pick him up and not answering a single question in return, Batman's head is clearly not sitting squarely on his shoulders. Now, Bruce and Batman have a crisis at the same time? That is a terribly short list of possible causes. In fact, that list is only two names long; Richard John Grayson and Jason Peter Todd-Wayne.  
(Alfred would be included on that list but the man is to intelligent and far to capable to not deal with his own problems long before they become his sons - I mean "Master Bruce's" - problems)

I know for a fact that one Dick Grayson is vacationing in the Alps as we speak, I'm sure code for 'deep space and unreachable', and Bruce is the kind of parent who would have contingencies in place to fix any of those situations long before they reached his unfortunately pointed ears. Which leaves one logical option, and what are the chances that after a month long absence, one Harley Quinn was asking after her boo only yesterday?

When no leads turned up, she would have went to Ivy, and Ivy hasn't left her park in weeks.

So lets see what Gothams favourite little birdie has stepped into this time.

"Ok Kiddo I gotta go, it's been fun though right?"  
.........  
"Well maybe a smidge more fun for me than you, I'm just guessing since you're being awfully quite."  
........what an ass, let me just die here.  
"Aaannnyway, be a good boy, finish your homework, be in bed by 9."

_YOU be in bed by nine._

"and heeEEY, please tell the big man I say, Hello" OF COURSE he has to drop his voice a full octave and actually make it sound terrible and horrifying when this whole fucking time I've been here in my head ripping on him for being a shitty unfunny villain, but fuck, that voice gives kids in the narrows the worst chills. My first winter on the streets and Crane doused the whole of Lower Gotham in fear gas as a trial run and the Joker, the fucking Joker did things that night, if even half of them are true I'm getting off lucky here. And he's literally KILLING me.

Fucking asshole, won't even let me die nice and fed up in peace, no, he's gotta make me die terrified of whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean.

With that fucking LAUGH

I'm going to haunt the fuck out of that creep.

And with that farewell the door finally slams shut on blissful, uncontaminated silence. In another circumstance that would have alerted me to something, but this time I just take it at face value. I probably really shouldn't, but I'm giving myself this one.

Wait

Alone, I'm alone, oh fuck I can do anything. Shelia's there passed out in the corner, but I can crawl, I can get help, I can get OUT. He left me here. Alive and _alone_

I maneuver my body in what feels like the most ungraceful way. I get all my stiff but somehow floppy, jello lead pipe limbs to the door. I can barely feel anything. I'm sure I'm in excruciating pain, and this whole 'crawling across the floor' business took much less than the small eternity it fucking felt like, but I make it to the door.

I can make it out.

I knew this wasn't the end, I knew I could beat this, this was just the most recent notch in a long line of tally marks of shit that tried real hard to kill me, but fuck it. I can get out. I can get out and I can get Shelia out and I can spend the next year in traction and she can go to jail but I can get out. I can get us out.

Bruce'll be so proud of me

I can...

Why can't I get out?

I'm throwing some kind of weight on the door, I watched the Joker go through, why won't it fucking open?

_***beep**beep***_

And there's the quiver in my stomach  
My back hits the door and I find the red blur across the room

_***beep**beep***_

fuck  
sorry Alf, looks like I won't be able to pay out that swear tab

I'm sorry I can't  
I'm sorry I wasn't enough

_***beep**beep***_

fuck

Sorry mom  
Looks like I couldn't save you  
Again

_***beep**beep***_

Bruce  
I'm sorry  
I'm scared

_***beep**beep***_

Dad I -

######  Notes 

this is probably the only chapter in First Person. More of a prologue than anything. So don't be SHOCKED when this changes next chapter. I wont be switching back and forth like ping pong. The VAST majority of this fic will be Third Person Limited.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up at https://ccconfidence-fanon.tumblr.com/, the more you interact with me the better the fic will be, no lie
> 
> Shame me into being a better writer


End file.
